Rhor Oweodd - A Duergar Tale (FR Fantasy)

Remove all ads!

Prologue

Ambrag Durthal walked silently down the stone corridor, glancing nervously at the vast collection of skulls and arcane weaponry decorating the long hall. Each skull, the duergar knew, had at one time belonged to an enemy of the Underking. Or to a failed servant. His pace quickened, his nervousness becoming greater as he passed each skull. The weaponry too, was foreboding, an impressive collection of greataxes, warhammers, swords, maces, and other implements of grisly death that belonged to the Underking.

Ambrag stopped at the end of the corridor to consider the huge stone doors in front of him. Each one was decorated with the skeletal remains of a mind flayer, the centuries-long enemies of the duergar. The thought of the Underking defeating, unarmed, two mind flayers at the same time brought a grimace of fear to Ambrag’s stony features.

The doors swung open silently, as if whoever was in the next chamber knew that Ambrag was standing outside, even though he had not made a sound. He crept forward slowly, fearing that the next step he took would be his last.

“Come forward.”

The cold, stony voice made the duergar jump with fear; he sped up, coming to the rear of the chamber where a long stone table stood, a single throne behind it. The throne was as foreboding as the long corridor, decorated with the preserved heads of drow matrons and high priestesses, with a sinister drider head perched at the tip of the chair’s back. But the seat was not nearly as frightening as who was seated in it. The Underking.

Ambrag’s voice cracked with fear. “You called, O high Savant.”

The Underking stared at Ambrag, his white, sightless eyes somehow boring into the very being of the gray dwarf. While they were useless as sensory organs, the Underking found it very amusing to use his unnatural-seeming eyes for intimidating his servants. Very amusing, and very effective.

His voice hit Ambrag’s ears like a clap of thunder.

“Report.”

Dread swept over the duergar’s entire countenance. “The raid was… unsuccessful, my Lord.”

“Why?”

“The humans prove a resilient race, we were thrust back into the High Forest.”

The Underking rose, drawing his pale, bluish-white form to its full height, rising a full two feet over the duergar lieutenant, muscles rippling beneath black and gray mithril-studded armor. Ambrag considered with despair the outcome of this briefing.

“Resilient? Thrust back? These are humans, not drow or illithid. You should have cut through them like hot steel through the skull of a kobold!”

“My liege, they were many, and on familiar ground—”

“Enough excuses! I tire of your
sniveling. You are as worthless as a troupe of svirfneblin.”

“My liege—”

A bolt of black energy shot into Ambrag’s skull, paralyzing him instantly. The Underking lowered his hand, an evil grin crawling its way across his face.

“Now you shall discover the fate of ineffective lieutenants. Guards!”

Two duergar came out of the shadows, moving towards the doomed Ambrag.

“Remove this… disgrace from my presence. Take him to the Room of Skulls and prepare him for his due… compensation for his actions. I shall be there within the hour.

Bowing deeply, the duergar guardians dragged the unmoving form of the Underking’s newest victim out of the throne chamber. The Underking sat down upon his cranium-adorned throne, considering the many forms of torture his newest trophy would undergo before becoming the newest addition to his corridor. He did so enjoy decorating.

[ November 10, 2002, 23:34: Message edited by: Falstaff ]

 

It warms this GaNgStA's heart to see a tale of the much overlooked race of the Duergar. I hope you continue to update.

 

Very solid and exciting. I hope that the ideas that the people in SP gave you helped to contribute to this story. Continue on!

 

I like it. Finally we get an "insider" view of the world of the Gray Dwarf, rather than simply a band of lawless brigands assault Drizzt on another trip back to the place he swore never to go back to(the underdark). Much applause, bra.

 

good, seems interesting. Jeez, that king dude must be the most powerful bloody thing in the world. Political leaders should learn to get off their fat ****'s and do it themselves instead of torturing pathetic underlings

 

Chapter I (First Installment)

The dark shape moved swiftly and silently through the trees. The dusk made the shadows even more helpful for travelling unseen, and unseen was how the hunter liked to be. “No prey can elude me.” The hunter thought, eyes watching alertly for motion in the brush ahead of him. He knew that somewhere up ahead, across the clearing, was a stag of considerable size, a stag that would feed him for many weeks. The bushes quivered, and suddenly erupted into a brown blur of speed and agility.

“Not fast enough.” The hunter said as he too exploded into motion, launching a throwing axe into the air with surprising speed and accuracy. The stag fell, the weapon protruding from the base of its neck, dead before it ever hit the ground.

Rhor Oweodd rose from his hiding spot, grinning madly at the beautiful shot he had just made. He strode forward on thick, powerful legs, crossing the wide clearing in a matter of moments. Strong, steel-like arms pulled the axe from the stag’s neck, and then slung the massive beast up onto wide shoulders as if it was a sack of air. The duergar turned and began home, back to the cave he had carved out into the side of the northernmost of the Lost Peaks.

*******************

Not even sweating after the long climb to his hidden cave, Rhor hurled the stag over a low-hanging tree and went about cleaning the carcass. As he cleaned, he noticed a tall form making its way through the huge trees of the High Forest. He continued to clean until the form, now identifiable as human, began the ascent to Rhor’s dwelling.

Eventually, the sweating, panting human came over the rocky outcrop that Rhor considered his front lawn. The man was tall and thin, with dirty blonde hair and ears that were just a little too big for his head. Dressed in common traveler’s garb, he was not a spectacular figure to behold.

“Can I help ye, traveler?” Rhor asked in his gravelly, little used voice.

The man jumped, not having seen the dwarf that blended so completely with the surrounding rocks. “Aye, I hear that there is a guide of sorts, that lives in this area. A dwarven guide.”

Rhor regarded the man carefully, not seeing any weapons on him, but still not sure if he could be trusted or not. “There are many dwarves in the North, traveler, and many that can be considered guides, although many times it is to certain danger or death.”

“There are many dwarves in the north, but not so many in the High Forest. And even fewer of those are duergar, as this one is said to be.”

Again, Rhor searched the man’s features, looking for any hint of malice. Finding none, he spoke. “And this duergar, what be ye needin’ him for?”

At this, the man looked about nervously, as if someone or something was watching him, ready to betray him at any moment. “Well, I have heard that this certain guide can take me to the…er…more profitable regions of the…er…lands below.”

“The Underdark?”

“Yes, I believe that would be the place.”

“Well then, I believe you have found your dwarf!”

The man sighed in obvious relief, but then suddenly straightened. “How do I know that you are him, and not some imposter?”

The gray-skinned dwarf grinned madly, teeth flashing in the moonlight. “Aye, and there are soooo many duergar here on the surface! Why don’t ye just check the next hill and find out!”
And with that, Rhor turned around and continued cleaning his kill.

The man spoke. “I uh, I suppose it is a bit foolish of me to think in such a fashion. Certainly, my good sir, you are he of whom the traders in Yartar speak.”

“Aye, I am he. And don’t be callin’ me ‘good sir’ – I am neither good nor a ‘sir’ – to any man.” Rhor gave a stony glare to the human, and watched the man accept his point.

The man nodded, and moved to sit down on a rock. “So, when shall we talk business?”

“Food first, then business,” the dwarf
grunted, and turned back to the business of skinning his stag.

******************

An hour and many pounds of portioned venison later, Rhor Oweodd finally turned to face his visitor. “And yer name would be?”

The man rose and bowed with a flourish. “Terryc Steyn of Waterdeep, merchant and rogue extraordinaire. I specialize in, shall we say, ‘rare goods.’”

Rhor rolled his eyes, sighing deeply. “Ye say that as if you are the only merchant of your type this side of Waterdeep. I know what ye deal in, it is the same thing that everyone who comes looking for me wants to deal in – stolen goods and rare items from the Underdark.”

Terryc puffed up even fuller than before. “Mine is an honorable trade, my good sir, bringing items to cultures that would not have them otherwise!”

Rhor again rolled his eyes – this was becoming way too typical. Almost forty years here on the surface, and the only people who come looking for him are ‘philanthropists’ who think they are doing the Realms a favor by stealing one man’s goods and selling it to those who they see as ‘deprived.’ Whether or not the duergar and other people of the Underdark are deprived or not is never the true issue with these types, the true issue is the clink of gold and silver in their purses. “Aye, honorable. Whatever. Let’s talk gold here. And what did I say about calling me ‘good sir?’”

Clearing his throat in mock embarrassment, Terryc made his offer. “Ahem, yes, well, let me see. For the task of guiding myself and my caravan safely through the caverns leading to Gracklslugh, I am willing to offer you a rather weighty sum.”

“And what sum would that be?”

The slender merchant pulled a purse off of his belt and tossed it to the duergar. “This now, and the same amount upon return to the surface.”

Rhor opened the purse and found, to his delight, enough gold and silver to keep him well stocked with food for the entire winter season. “A fair enough sum, I suppose. How many will I be takin’ down with me?”

“Myself, four guards, two of my assistants, my bookkeeper, and a half-orcish servant – the mule, if you will.”

The duergar asked, “Yer men are capable and strong of gut?”

“They have proven themselves in battle many times, and have my complete confidence.”

Rhor grinned, almost maniacally, “We shall see. The Underdark has a tendency to change a man’s perspective on fearlessness.” He shrugged, and grinned again. “Yer men had better be strong of gut and heart, fer the caverns are not for the light of either! We leave tomorrow at dusk.” And with that, Rhor spun and walked into his cave, dreaming of the ways he could spend his new-earned gold.

**************

 

--- Here is some more --> Installment #3

*******************

Terryc returned to the caravan encampment late that night, panting from his difficult hike back down the Lost Peaks. A tall form suddenly rose from the bushes in front of him.

“Hold!”

“Damn it, Andar, it’s me you fool!”

The young warrior grinned sheepishly, pushing his long brown hair out of his face. “Sorry Terryc, it’s just that this forest is full of so many creatures, I had to be sure.”

Terryc sighed in frustration – would this fighter ever calm down? “Do I look like an orc, Andar? Do I smell like one?”

“No, sir.”

“Well then, kindly save your threats for beasts of their ilk, and greet me in a more respectable fashion!”

“Aye, sir.” The young warrior turned, resheathing his sword, and rapidly slunk back into the camp.

“Well, Terryc, did you find our guide?”

Terryc looked in the direction of the throaty voice – noting that Kelred was once again sharpening his massive two-handed sword. It seemed that the old war-horse’s weapons were never sharp enough for his liking. “Aye, I found him.”

“And?”

“He has agreed to guide us to the duergar city, for the agreed price.”

A short, thin form rolled out of a tent. “What is this ‘guide’ like? Is he elf or man, or worse?”

Terryc looked at the halfling and sighed. Tara always had a question – whether it was information relevant to the halfling or not. “Well, no, he is not elf, or human.”

“What is he? A dwarf?”

“Aye, a dwarf, but, not exactly.”

“Not exactly?” The query came from above Terryc’s head. Belil-Galas, from his usual overhead perch, repeated the halfling’s question. “What is he? I’ll not be led about the Underdark by a goblin, or worse.”

With a sigh of resignation, Terryc looked up at the elf and waved him down from his perch. “Gather the others, Andar. We must have a… talk.”

************************

As he lay looking up at the night sky, Terryc’s mind rolled over the evening’s events. He had feared telling his caravan about the nature of their guide from the start of the trip. It had gone well, overall. No one had been killed, and eventually everyone calmed down after he told them about their duergar guide. Kelred Taer, the older human warrior, had simply nodded his head in a stoic acceptance of the circumstances. The jumpy Andar Brem nearly left the group however, more out of fear than racial hatred. The female warrior Eyryn Cerrad, usually so composed and quiet, had ranted and raved for a half-hour before she calmed down and accepted the news. Chelcy Shdw, his assistant, took in the information without any show of emotion at all.

Of course Tara Dardagon, his other roguish assistant, was filled with questions. Indeed, Andar had nearly throttled her out of sheer fright due to her line of questioning. Urak, the half-orc, showed little interest at all, being more concerned with the condition of his long, clawlike fingernails than the idea of a duergar scout.

The true test of the news was the reactions of the last two members of the party. Belil-Galas was furious, and threatened to kill Terryc for his presumptuous notion, to trust an evil gray dwarf. Arath Dynn, the half-elven mage, had been similarly outraged, though less volatile in his language. Eventually the two calmed down. They had known from the start of the journey that they would go into the Underdark, they were more angry because of Terryc’s tendency to hide information from them than the fact that they were going into the great city of the duergar, Gracklslugh.

Perhaps their easy acceptance has something to do with that drow ranger, Drizzt Whatshisname, and his recent exploits in the north. That, he thought, that is probably the reason for the growing acceptance of renegades from the various Underdark peoples.

And with that thought, Terryc drifted off into a peaceful slumber, filled with dreams of high-piled gold and scantily clad serving women.

************

 

And so we have met the players. Stage set for the adventure to unfold. Very good tale.